


Trust

by comtessedebussy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Knifeplay, Light Bondage, M/M, Pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-18
Updated: 2012-11-18
Packaged: 2017-11-18 23:04:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/566257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comtessedebussy/pseuds/comtessedebussy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Your capacity to love is immense, despite the fact that love is so often linked to trust, and you have so little capacity for the latter,” Castiel says. </p><p>Dean opens his mouth before considering what Cas said, and when he does no words come out. Castiel has somehow managed to hit home as spectacularly as he did when he looked upon Dean for mere seconds and said “you don’t think you deserve to be saved.”</p><p>“Yet you trust me, of all people....If I hurt you, would you trust me that it was for the best, Dean Winchester?’</p><p>(involves some soul/grace sex)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trust

Cas appears with a flutter of wings.

Dean’s heard that sound hundreds of times now, that gentle flutter that reminds him vaguely of the wind wringing a flag, and yet his heart also flutters each time. Once, long ago, he had felt trepidation at the sound of an Angel of the Lord appearing before him, but now he was filled with excitement, joy, a vague disbelief that something so good as Castiel is still around.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says softly.

“Cas.” Dean breathes the familiar name that he’d christened his angel with.  
Cas walks over to Dean and puts his arms around the hunter, pulling him close. He smiles, disconcerting Dean, who’s used to the usually austere expression on the angel’s face. “Wha—“

“I’ve missed you, Dean,” Cas says, before leaning forward for a kiss. Dean melts into it, clinging to Cas as the angel backs him towards the bed, their lips still together. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Dean registers that Cas is holding him like a Disney princess, leaning over him until Dean’s entire weight is in Castiel’s arms and placing him on the bed gently. Then Cas is on top of him, stretching his arms out and putting their palms together while he continues kissing Dean’s lips. Dean surrenders to the kiss, enjoying the ease of letting go and not being in control for once. Cas has never taken the lead before, but he seems to know what he’s doing so well and Dean is suddenly just so satisfied that he’s not in control of every aspect of the situation.

Cas gets up suddenly and Dean’s eyes flutter open, confused and frustrated at the lack of Castiel’s warm body on top of him. He’s naked, he realizes, which is why he’s suddenly so cold without Castiel on him, and, he realizes, his arms are tied to the bedposts. Naked, spread-eagled, and vulnerable, he curses.

“Cas, what the – “

“Do you trust me, Dean?” Castiel asks, digging through the arsenal Dean has stashed away in one of his bags. He pulls out a knife.

“Of course I do.” Dean says it without a thought. 

The whole situation is utterly disconcerting. Castiel’s never shown any interest in anything particularly kinky (then again, he hadn’t shown a lack of interest either. He just hadn’t mentioned it). And his digging through Dean’s rather extensive collection of knives and other sharp objects while Dean was completely helpless would be disconcerting except for the bit where Castiel only needed to snap his fingers to actually hurt Dean.

Castiel’s suddenly straddling him again, and he’s infuriatingly not naked. He’s gotten rid of the trenchcoat, but that still leaves about three layers between him and Dean. Cas traces the knife slowly up Dean’s torso, from his hips to circling gently around his nipples to his throat. He’s watching Dean as he does it, and Dean’s watching him, and neither of them are looking at the knife until it presses against Dean’s neck, the blade cutting into his skin just barely, a cold reminder that all Castiel had to do was drag the knife a few inches..

“Do you really trust me, Dean?” Cas asks again, and somehow, Dean is utterly calm. Not just because he’s been threatened with every kind of weapon imaginable throughout his life but because it’s Castiel, and right now, right there, unable to move and with a knife at his throat, he feels safer than he has in a long time.There’s something liberating about this situation, too, about the physical and emotional nakedness Castiel has reduced him to so effortlessly. It’s what lets him look directly into Cas’ eyes and say “yeah, Cas, I do.”

Castiel nods, moving the knife from Dean’s throat, dragging it with excruciating slowness down his chest and stomach, down to where Dean is deeply aroused by the situation. He slides the side of the cold blade up Dean’s cock and Dean jumps, lifting his head up and letting out an exclamation of “Cas!”

Cas pauses, knife still pressed against Dean’s erection.

“You said you trust me, Dean. You trust me to press a knife against your throat. You trust me with your life. But there are other ways to trust someone, Dean. I won’t hurt you.”

Dean let out a breath he’d been holding. His body is still tense, on edge, ready to defend itself – if he could move, that is.

“Trust me, Dean,” Castiel says.

And Dean does. He throws his head back and closes his eyes and loses himself. He loses himself in the feeling of cold and sharpness, as Cas slides the side of the knife down his hardened cock, then over his balls, and it’s gentle, barely there, as gentle as Cas’ fingers would be. He squirms, not getting enough, needing more touch, more friction, and Castiel drags the knife back up to his cock, the side of the blade pressing harder as it moves up and down, and by this point Dean’s almost forgotten that Cas is handling a lethal sharp object.

Castiel lifts the knife and Dean makes a little whimpering noise of regret, the kind of noise that he’d never admit to. Cas smirks. Dean bucks his hips. He’s tied up and he’s hard and Castiel is still dressed and playing with him and it’s all so infuriating.

Castiel places a hand on Dean’s chest.

“You are a remarkable human, Dean Winchester.”

Dean’s eyes flutter open.

“Yeah, whatever, Cas, just get to it, I’m dying here – “

“Your capacity to love is immense, despite the fact that love is so often linked to trust, and you have so little capacity for the latter,” Castiel pushes on.

 

Dean opens his mouth before considering what Cas said, and when he does no words come out. Castiel has somehow managed to hit home as spectacularly as he did when he looked upon Dean for mere seconds and said “you don’t think you deserve to be saved.”

“Yet you trust me, of all people.”

“Yeah, well …” he doesn’t know how to go on. Whether he should mention that he’s never had a reason to trust anyone to begin with. Until Castiel, of course.

“If I hurt you, would you trust me that it was for the best, Dean Winchester?’

Dean doesn’t know where to begin answering, whether it’s to comment on the weirdness of the angel he’s been fucking calling him by his full name or wondering why Cas would ever have the stupid idea of doing what he just suggested.

“Would you ever believe that if I cause you pain, it might be so that later you may experience a greater joy?”

Castiels’ gone so far off into the land of incomprehensibility at this point that Dean’s given up on following him. He simply nods. He does trust Cas, he realizes, with anything. He realizes that his current physical vulnerability is but a shred of the emotional vulnerability Castiel had reduced him to long ago. At the moment he doesn’t’ particularly feel like exploring that. He contents himself with blurting out a quick “yes” and wondering what the hell Castiel’s getting at. 

Castiel’s eyes travel to his own hand on Dean’s chest, and his brow furrows in concentration.

“what are you doing …” he begins asking.

“A union. Both physical and spiritual.”

Dean’s about to ask about the spiritual bit, but his words turn into a choked out scream. He’s throwing his head back and screaming and clenching his fists; for a second he remembers being on the rack in Hell, and gritting his teeth and refusing to scream, and then screaming until he lost his voice and willing himself not to break with every scream. He’s suddenly angry and betrayed, furious at Cas for taking him back to Hell after rescuing him from it, all the trust and pleasure of the past half-hour washed away by currents of pain. “Son of – “ he struggles to say before letting out another groan through gritted teeth, and for a second Castiel feels doubt, wonders if he’s doing the right thing, wonders if he’s just hurt Dean even more.

Then the pain, most of it, melts away, and he feels a warmth creeping through his entire body, spreading from his chest, where Castiel’s hand is buried, from his heart through the rest of his body, making his dick give an interested twitch in the process. There’s still pain, but a good kind of pain, almost like the pure raw feeling of getting hurt in a fight in which he gives as he gets. He can feel something light and graceful touching his soul, spreading that warmth, easing the pain until it feels like pleasure. Everywhere Castiel is touching his soul, and everywhere the painful explosion of a human and an angel touching is soothed immediately by Castiel’s grace and love. Dean throws his head back and moans, clenching his fists. He doesn’t remember an orgasm ever feeling that good and he hasn’t even come yet. Not yet.

But he’s close. And as Castiel’s grace explores his body and his soul, every inch of it, an interplay of spiritual pain and pleasure, he feels that he’s close, oh so close. His moans turn guttural and utterly obscene, he tears at the ropes and they chafe his wrists, the sudden raw pain followed immediately by Castiel concentrating his grace on them and soothing them. It’s too much, the physical and the spiritual all at once, the utter contrasts, the scope of the thing, and its magnitude builds up until Dean is coming harder than he’s ever come before. The pleasure of his orgasm in addition to the feeling of Castiel still a part of him nearly overwhelms him, and Castiel knows this, feels this, and withdraws slowly, gently, delicately.

Dean’s still a gasping, shuddering wreck as Castiel releases him from his bonds with a thought. He doesn’t even seem to notice that he’s suddenly free, his eyes still closed, mind still focused on the pleasure of their union. Castiel waits patiently for Dean to recover, undressing as he does. He could magic his clothes away in a second like he did to Dean’s, of course, but somehow, right now, taking off each piece of this clothing by hand, as a human would, feels right. By the time he’s naked and straddling Dean again, the Winchester has recovered enough to open his eyes and look up at Cas.

“What…the hell was that?” He asks in surprise.

Castiel feels another pang of doubt. He knew Dean had enjoyed it, he’d felt Dean enjoy the experience, had felt his pleasure when his Grace united with the hunter’s soul, but he wondered if he’d presumed too much in supposing the pleasure might be worth the pain.

“My Grace touched your soul, Dean Winchester. I had thought you might enjoy the experience of bonding spiritually as well as physically.”

“So, wait, we, like, had soul sex?” Dean asks. His brain is chugging along a little too slowly at the moment and he remembers as an afterthought that angels don’t have souls.

“Something like that, yes,” Castiel assented.

“Dude,” Dean breathed out.

“I’m sorry if I hurt you, Dean. I had thought the pleasure might make up for the pain. I’m sorry if it was too much.”

“Dude,” Dean said again, as was his habit. “That was fucking awesome.”

Castiel stared at Dean, slightly perplexed.

“Can we do it again sometime?”

“Perhaps,” Castiel said uncertainly. The sound of Dean’s scream was still ringing in his ears. He’d known he would hurt Dean, understood it, just as he’d understood that after pain would come pleasure. But the sight of Dean beneath him, screaming in pain, the way he had in Hell, had shaken him to his very core.

Dean raised himself up on his elbows and looked up at Cas. For a human, he had a perceptive glance. Castiel remembered how, in the green room, Dean had looked at him so piercingly, read his guilt so easily, his gaze as penetrating as Castiel’s own. Dean had a strange knack for reading Castiel that disconcerted the angel.

“Cas.” Dean’s voice was still hoarse from the screams and moans, the pleasure and the pain. He looked up into his angel’s blue eyes. “Thank you. That was …spectacular. It was worth it, Cas. I trusted you, Cas, and it was worth it. The pain…that was nothing.”

Castiel looked down at Dean again. He was truly a remarkable human in so many ways. Of all the creatures Cas had ever known, had ever seen, in his thousands of years, almost none had had Dean’s strength. The kind of endurance that could push the memory of excruciating pain away without an afterthought. The kind of strength that did not break for thirty years of endless pain. And, above all, the strength of his capacity to love and to trust after so much pain.

“You are a remarkable human being, Dean Winchester,” Cas says again. A shiver runs through Dean at the words. For once in his life, he believes it might be true.

Castiel crawls to lie down next to Dean, scooping the still weak and pleasure-broken human into his arms. They lie next to each other, back to front, Castiel’s hand over Dean’s heart, in the place where he’d touched Dean’s soul. Dean places his own hand over Castiel’s and leans back into the angel, their skin touching, a pleasant warmth in the cool room. Cas plants a kiss on Dean’s shoulder, the mark of the place where he’d first touched Dean’s soul. Dean shivers again, and Castiel holds him tighter, pressing their bodies impossibly close.

“So that’s a yes, then?” Dean asks, his hand pressing down on Castiel’s.

Castiel’s never been able to refuse Dean anything anyway, but this time there is also the memory of the ecstasy he himself had felt at uniting with the hunter’s soul that allow him to say “Yes, Dean. Whatever you wish.”


End file.
